


A First Attempt at Porn

by Starship_Captain_88



Series: Attempts at Writing Porn [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Condoms, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fellatio, Food Sex, French Kissing, Hand Jobs, Happy Sex, Kissing, Light Bondage, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Prostate Massage, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starship_Captain_88/pseuds/Starship_Captain_88
Summary: There's a bar where people go because they want to hook up.Olympe is there because she's feeling very horny and masturbation won't do it for her.She meets a French guy called Roger and propositions him.They go to a hotel for a night of hot sex.
Series: Attempts at Writing Porn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926268
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. The Nanashi

There is a particular bar near the north end of the NSFW channel. Regular patrons call it ‘Nanashi’ -- meaning ‘No Name’ in Japanese, which obviously isn’t its real name -- because they don’t want word to get around to the wrong kind of people. 

That particular night, Nanashi was half-full.

Olympe and the boy had been eyeing each other up with subtle glances from the corners of their eyes. She sat alone in her booth. He was at a nearby table, equally alone, it seemed. 

She wore a mannish trouser suit, dark grey pinstripe, tailored to button left over right, and a collared white shirt. It was an outfit that more than whispered butch dyke, but her sexuality was blurred by her feminine strappy sandals, subtle make-up, the ribbon tie that closed her collar, and the long gold earrings which dangled from the lobes of her ears and swayed sensually as she moved her head to look around or sip her drink.

She felt the pull of those earrings like ocean waves, irregularly rhythmic -- a contradiction in terms, Olympe thought, but it was true in the Zen moment -- the pull she felt made her earlobes burn subtly and the feeling was transmitted to her nipples and lower down still. She shifted in her seat, the movement of her buttocks and thighs compressing her vulva, and her clitoris began to get hard.

Olympe had had no companionship for months other than her reliable Hitachi magic wand, a high quality rechargeable model. Masturbation relieved certain itches, to be sure, but she desired to be pinned to a smooth, cool bed, filled and stretched, to grab and pull the sheets in her passion. She yearned to grip a man's hard muscles, to lick salty skin, to mount and ride him at her own speed, to her own satisfaction. 

She wanted orgasms someone else had given her. She wanted to provoke her partner and see his juice burst from him, to spray it where she liked. She wanted a Proper. Hard. Sweaty. Fuck. 

Thinking about it was making her moist. She knew her period apps, Clue and Flo, would tell her she was in the middle of her fertile window. Evolution wanted her to get pregnant, so it made her body hot and ready for sex. She would take the pleasure and deny her eggs their fulfillment.

She shifted again on the leather banquette of her booth, her thighs rubbing together. She looked boldly at the boy, to appreciate the full impact of his style. He was cool, of course, because no-one got into the Nanashi who wasn’t, that was the point of the place. She started with his dark eyes, piercing was a cliché which seemed appropriate on this occasion. His hair was short, choppy, almost black, and he had very short, soft looking facial hair. It was longer than designer stubble but too short to be a proper beard and moustache. That was good. Olympe didn't like a full beard on a boy. 

Her gaze roved over his body. His clothes were casual, yet well judged and stylish: camel colour, pleat front chinos; a plain, sky-blue, long sleeve business shirt with open collar; a thin, navy blue pullover. Medium brown lace-up Oxford shoes, dark socks. His broad shoulders hinted at male strength. There was a bit of chub at his waist, perhaps, but legs which reached the ground completed a satisfactory physique. He wasn’t a male model. He looked pretty damn good, and genuine, a real boy, not a fantasy. She locked his eyes again, knowing that he knew she had checked him out, hoping that he had checked her out in his turn. 

He had. 

The boy saw a tall, athletic girl with a handsome face framed by choppy, pixie-cut honey-blonde hair and subtle makeup. Her mannish suit emphasised her svelte lines, broad shoulders, petite breasts, and a trim waist which flared out to her ripe hips. Long legs which would be striking when she stood up on her two-inch heels.

He returned her direct gaze, held it until just before it would have become a stare-out contest, then smiled and lifted his glass of beer to her. Olympe smiled back and nodded. He came over and sat opposite in her booth.

“My name’s Roger,” he said, speaking with a soft, French accent, rolling the R, ‘Rrrozjaire’, the name sounded like. “May I offer you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” She had a cut-glass English accent. It might have sounded snooty but on her it was natural.

The Nanashi was an American style of bar, so Roger signalled for the waitress. She brought the menu and Olympe asked for a French 75 cocktail, which contained gin and champagne as well as other ingredients. The point of coming to a good bar like this was to drink something with a bit of extra style to it, something you couldn’t mix at home because the ingredients were too much trouble to keep around. Olympe fixed her own Martinis at home, Negronis too. She didn’t often order them in bars. Roger chose another beer, and bowls of olives and pistachio nuts.

The drinks and snacks arrived. Roger pushed the olives towards her; she speared one into her mouth with a cocktail stick. She raised her fresh glass to give a toast.

“To interesting people.”

Roger clinked his glass with hers, and they sipped their drinks.

“You are a mysterious lady, do you have a name?”

“Olympe,” she said, with the correct French pronunciation. Olympe usually gave her name as Pia, because it was easier to pronounce for native English speakers, but obviously Roger would have no difficulty. He was surprised and pleased. He switched into his native language, assuming that Olympe would understand, and began to rattle off something, maybe a pick-up line. She held a hand up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak French anymore.” It was an odd thing to say, but it was true. Olympe had entirely lost her previous bilingual ability under highly unusual circumstances.

He raised an eyebrow in a silent query.

“I woke up one morning and found my French had vanished, as if by magic,” she explained. “I had gained other skills instead, however.” She smiled lazily.

“You _really are_ a mysterious lady.”

“A girl’s more fun like that, don’t you think?” She took a good sip of her cocktail, and another olive. She chomped it thrice, working her jaw slowly, and swallowing sensually, trying to signal her hunger. She raised a foot and began to stroke his leg.

Roger was a man of the world. He could easily read her signals, she wasn’t exactly being subtle. Nanashi was a bar where people went to try and hook up. It wasn’t the only reason people went there, of course, but if you saw a girl or boy there alone, more likely than not they wanted some company. He had come here to hook up. It looked like he had succeeded.

Olympe leant forwards to make her proposition.

“Here’s a scenario, Roger. We’ll finish our drinks and go to the Rialto hotel. We’ll eat a dozen oysters and I’ll drink another cocktail. You can have more oysters if you think they’ll help. You can’t drink because I want you in full working order. We’ll get a room, and we’ll fuck each other mindless. I’ll be gone in the morning, but if you’re good, I’ll leave my card.”

Roger was rather surprised at how forthright she was. He had been propositioned in various ways before, but never with such a direct scheme. It was pretty exciting, actually, his cock began to rise as he envisaged the scene.

“I like your plan, Olympe, and I have an idea to improve it.”

“What’s that?” She thought it was already a pretty fucking good programme.

“Let’s have the oysters and champagne on room service.”

“That’s a great idea!” she exclaimed. In her mind’s eye they were already naked, feeding oysters to each other. “Just one thing, if you want to suck raw oysters out of my pussy, you can’t use any vinegar or Tabasco. Only the oyster and brine.”

It hadn’t occurred to Roger to eat an oyster directly out of a girl. He had imagined them tipping the oysters into each other’s mouths, or slurping them from their belly buttons. That already seemed very sexy. The mental image of pushing a raw oyster into Olympe’s vulva, then sucking it out and consuming it with a mixture of brine and her intimate juices, was very exciting. His prick quickly became rigid, and he said, “Olympe, I’m eager to go right now. That is, I’m so eager to go that I can’t stand up or I’ll embarrass myself terribly. Do you understand what I mean?”

Olympe nodded, thinking it was great that Roger was so lively. She stopped stroking his leg, and ate some more olives.

He tried to breathe slowly, sipping his beer and snacking on pistachios. He thought about world cup rugby. England had smashed and humiliated France in the recent tournament. After a minute or two it began to work. His erection gradually deflated. He called for the bill. 

Olympe quickly downed the rest of her cocktail, and together they went out to catch a taxicab. Olympe had the driver stop outside a convenience store, where she bought herself a tee-shirt, spare panties, Ibuprofen, a pack of condoms, and a handy squeeze bottle of personal lubricant. They went on to the hotel.


	2. Undressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olympe and Roger get a room at the Rialto hotel.
> 
> She lets him half undress her, and he plays with her breasts, then Room Service arrives.
> 
> They start to eat oysters, and Olympe gives Roger a blowjob.

At the reception desk, Roger was thinking that nothing had been said about how to divide the bill for their stay. It was a delicate topic. He was not sure how to broach it. Olympe looked at him with a perceptive eye.

“You might be worrying how to split the bill. 50/50 is fine. We’re both here for fun. I’ll pay for my wine because I told you not to drink. But let’s not get anal. About money, I mean. It’s boring to count pennies.” 

They got a luxury room with a jacuzzi bath and went straight up. Olympe immediately started filling the bath, while Roger checked the room service menu.

“What do you want to drink, Olympe?”

“I’ll have a Stinger, please, and a bottle of champagne. Ask for two flutes, I don’t think it will do you any harm to have a little.”

While Roger rang through the order, Olympe removed her jacket and hung it up. She had two tiny guns holstered at her hips. She unbelted them and locked them in the safe. She looked at him to see if he had noticed. Of course he had, because he was looking at her as much as he liked, which was a lot. He gave her a level stare, and she said nothing. He noticed that her hips were narrower, more boyish, without the guns bulking out her jacket skirts.

Olympe went to check how the bath was coming along. She put bubble bath in it and started the jacuzzi function. When she came back she began to disrobe, starting with her bright red ribbon tie. But she stopped with the ribbon undone and still around her neck, and said, “Perhaps you would like to undress me, Roger. Like unwrapping a present.” She stood in the most open space in the room, and let him come to her. 

He approached her slightly hesitantly. Now that imagination was becoming reality, there was the chance of causing offence and hurt. He slid the ribbon gently from around her neck and tossed it on the bed. He looked into her hazel-green eyes, then began to unbutton her blouse, slowly working from her throat downwards. The front of her bra peeped at him, it was white, soft, unwired, and without a pattern. He moved on until he reached her waistband. 

There he paused, and, passing his hands around her torso, he began to pluck her blouse out of her trousers so he could finish unfastening it and take it off her. He moved around her slender waist, gently pulling the skirts of her blouse up and out of her waistband. All this time she remained passive, breathing deeply and slowly. He inhaled her fragrance, a mixture of a heavy sensual perfume and fresh sweat, and alcohol on her breath. He began to get hard again.

Olympe held her arms up, like a soldier in the act of surrender.

Roger took the blouse off her, revealing her bra, which was a plain white, elastic sports number with multiple criss-cross straps on the back. He glimpsed her armpits, tufted with dark blonde hair, to his surprise.

“Take my bra off before my bottom half. It’s sexier like that,” she said.

He gently worked the elastic fabric up, off her arms and shoulders, over her head, and flipped it onto the bed. Her torso was nude in front of him but from the waist down she was fully clothed. He put his hands to her naked waist, leant down and licked one of her sleek breasts, then the other. She sighed, put her arms around his neck. and waited for him to continue his ministrations.

He licked her nipples, then began to pinch them with his lips, gradually progressing to gentle bites as they became erect and stood proud. Her breathing got deeper. Her skin became flushed. She sighed. Her fingers clenched on his neck and in the hair on the back of his head, to guide his mouth.

The bell rang. Room service had arrived.

Roger let Olympe go. She disappeared inside the bathroom while he opened the door and allowed the room service waitress to wheel a trolley in. He was beyond caring if she noticed the raging erection which tented the front of his trousers, the bra and blouse on the bed. She began to explain the dishes, but she was happy to go quickly when he thanked her and gave her a hefty tip. There were three ice filled trays of six oysters each, a bottle of champagne in a cooler with ice in it, and a single, glowing glass of oily amber spirits which was the Stinger. He put it in the minibar to keep it well chilled.

Olympe came out again, naked on top but still fully clothed below. “Shall we eat something now?” she asked, and slumped into an easy chair. She put one leg over the other knee and swung it rhythmically. “Let’s put some music on. Jazz standards would be a good pick.”

Roger was of the same mind. He checked the entertainment system and got a playlist going on a low volume, just loud enough to make out the track if you paid attention, otherwise it was a tuneful background noise. Meanwhile Olympe opened the champagne expertly and poured two glasses. She took an oyster and added vinegar and chopped spring onions. She slurped it sensuously.

Roger took a seat opposite her and helped himself to an oyster with Tabasco. The mixture of cold flesh, brine and fierce spice was delicious. He followed it with a sip of champagne. He scanned the girl, feeling hot for the contrast of her naked top half and formally dressed legs, her feet still in strappy sandals. She returned his look. She noted the state of his trousers and took pity on him.

Olympe ate a second oyster and drank half a glass of champagne. She liked to be fairly drunk when having sex. It made things easier, released her inhibitions and got her blood and juices flowing. She stood up and leant over Roger, her hands braced on the arms of his chair. Her perky small breasts, nipples red and erect, stared at him. She turned aside and got an oyster, put a dash of vinegar in it, and brought it to his mouth. He slurped like a child being fed. Olympe slowly knelt in front of Roger and parted his knees, giving her access to his crotch. She unzipped his fly and reached inside to find his prick. It wasn’t difficult. Roger had a good six inches of pink steel, raging with need. 

Olympe brought his boner into the light and examined it carefully. It was a happy banana, with a slight upward curve, uncircumcised with a lovely soft foreskin hiding the purple head. She leant close and took a gentle sniff. He seemed good and clean. She refused to go down on a dirty man, but she loved fellatio with a clean, handsome one. She wrapped her right hand around the penis and gave a slow stroke. A bead of pre-cum oozed from the eye. She tasted it with the tip of her tongue.

“Mmmm… I’m glad you’re a clean boy, Roger.”

She popped his uncut glans into her mouth and gave a good hard suck, then summoned saliva to lubricate him. Once he was nice and wet, she pulled his foreskin down to reveal his purple head. She licked all around it, savouring his flavour, then popped it into her mouth and began slowly to fellate him, going farther down his shaft on each move. Her earrings swung in time, stimulating her earlobes. Her nipples perked hard, and he reached out to take them between his fingers, pinching gently to bring her pleasure. She moaned, and he felt the vibration in his cock. Her speed increased, and the pressure of her hand. Her tongue was slathering over his shaft and glans, licking at the eye to get the precious drops of pre-cum which oozed steadily.

Suddenly Olympe stopped. She took her mouth off his prick and squeezed the base firmly. “I don’t want you going off too soon,” she said. “Warn me if you feel yourself getting close.” Roger nodded. She rocked back on her heels. “Get up and take your trousers off, Roger.” She moved back to give him room. 

He stood and quickly removed his shoes, socks and trousers. Olympe grabbed the waistband of his boxer shorts and pulled them down to his ankles. He stepped out of them, and now the couple mirrored each other in their half undress. Olympe stood up and took his hand. She led him to the bathroom.


	3. A Special Treat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olympe displays her oral skills, driving Roger almost to distraction, but in the end he gets the better of her.

“I’m going to give you a special treat, Roger, and I need to make sure you’re clean. Bend over the bath and let me see your arsehole.”

Roger was slightly reluctant to do this. He had a strong idea that Olympe was going to put a finger up there, a procedure which previously had only occurred during prostate examinations by his doctor. It hadn't been fun. 

“Stop being stupid, Roger. I’m going to make you feel amazing.”

Olympe seemed quite domineering, so he bent over as instructed. The girl filled the washbasin with warm water. She carefully washed Roger’s rear end, taking care to clean his anus. She put one of her condoms on her forefinger, and, using some of the lube she had bought, she inserted her finger slowly and gently into his rectum. It didn't feel so bad when she did it. She cleaned him thoroughly, using wet wipes, discarded the condom, and washed her hands.

“Let’s go back to the room,” she said, and led him by the hand. She got him to stand up with his legs slightly apart, and knelt in front of him. She knew boys loved this view of a girl in front of them, her eyes looking up submissively. But Olympe was the one in charge.

His cock had deflated a little during the clinical clean-up operation, so she stroked it firmly with her left hand until it began to perk up. She paused to squirt lube into her hands, then took his prick in her left and opened her mouth wide.

“I’m going to give you the best blowjob you’ve ever had, but you’re not allowed to come. Tell me if you’re getting near to coming. I shall be very angry if you don't!” Roger nodded his agreement. Olympe put her lips to his prick and slowly fed it into her mouth, inch by inch. It was too thick to get down her throat. She had never really mastered her gag reflex and could only get about three inches inside her mouth. She compensated by wrapping her left hand around the base. She began to bob her head and her earrings swung to the beat. Every few sucks she stopped, licked pre-cum from his head, and stroked with her hand. Her right hand cupped his balls, squeezing gently. She drifted her right forefinger between his cheeks, and touched his anus. He froze. She continued her slow sucking, and gradually pushed her finger inside him, curling it back to feel for his prostate. She massaged it gently with circular motions.

Roger had read about this but he had never had it done to him before. It felt amazing. He was already highly excited. Even though Olympe was dispensing a slow pleasure she was methodically pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He felt his orgasm approach after only a few minutes and cried out. “Stop, Olympe, I’m getting close!”

She took her hot lips away with a final lick of his glans, and writhed her finger out of his anus with a twisting motion. Drool was oozing from the corners of her mouth. She looked up at his eyes and stroked him very slowly. He groaned as she edged him. Olympe wanted to get maximum jizm from her boy. She delighted in semen and regretted that human boys had such low volume to offer. She let him go and stared cross-eyed at his penis.

Roger’s cock was twitching and bobbing with his heartbeat and heavy breaths. Olympe went to wash her hands. She came back to see Roger sitting in the chair again. She sat opposite and watched him, sipping champagne while she waited for him to calm down a little. When her glass was empty she went to refill it.

“Stand up again, Roger. You’ve got a special treat coming next.”

She prepped three oysters with vinegar and carefully fed him two of them, keeping the last one for herself. She knelt in front of him again, and slipped the last oyster into her mouth, chewed once, then she wrapped her lips around him again. His cock head felt the slimy mollusc and a sting from the vinegar, then the sensation of her swallowing the oyster pulled at him. He would have been triggered to orgasm if she had not allowed him the interval of calm earlier. Instead, his penis strained even harder and hotter.

Olympe took her mouth off him and sipped more champagne. She took a mouthful of the wine and put her mouth back to his glans. The cold wine fizzed against his nerves as she gave slow, shallow bobs of her head and worked with her tongue. She swallowed, and the suction and movement of her tongue almost brought Roger to his climax. He put his hands to Olympe’s head and gently pushed her away from him.

She stood up and made him sit in his chair.

“If you’re wondering where I learnt these tricks, Roger, it wasn’t in some high-class Japanese sex academy. It’s all on Cosmopolitan.com these days, but boys don’t bother to read girls’ websites.”

He stared at her, almost unable to breathe with the degree of sexual tension she had incited in him. She leant over him again and began to pull at his sweater.

“Let’s get naked, Roger, it’s time for some real fun!”

Roger tried to stand up to get his sweater and shirt off more easily. Olympe helped pull him out of the chair, grabbed him around the waist and was kissing his mouth at the same time as she was trying to pull the waistband of his sweater up. He kissed her back eagerly, using his male strength to force her tongue out of his way, so he could search deep in her mouth for the flavours of what she had been eating and drinking. His cock was pushing at her, still rampant from the way she had manipulated it so cleverly.

Somehow they managed to fumble his clothes off. Now naked, he grabbed Olympe up and carried her to the bed. She didn’t resist. He laid her down and began to fumble at her trousers, wanting more than anything to carry out the plan of oral sex with oysters. He got the closure undone and pulled the waistband down. She lifted her hips and helped push the cloth past her bottom.

“Wait! My sandals. You need to take off my sandals first or you will tear something.”

He went to her feet, got the straps undone, threw the shoes to one side, and pulled at the hems of her trousers. The garment came off easily and he tossed it onto a chair. Olympe began to roll from side to side on the bed, laughing. He caught her ankles to make her lie still, and she gentled at his touch, and lay with her arms out and legs open, like a starfish. She was still breathing heavily and chuckling, her eyes closed. He looked at her crotch. Her plain, white briefs were stained with her fluid. Clearly she had been moist for a while. There was a nubbin which must be her erect clit, pushing at the cloth.

He began to stroke his way up her legs, and to his surprise found she was not shaved there. Together with her armpit tufts this was absurdly exciting, and he couldn’t wait to find out the state of her bush. He climbed onto the bed in between her legs, and put a pair of fingers to the wet patch on her panties, pressing gently, and began to smear the juice around. Olympe moaned. Roger took his fingers away and put them in his mouth. He savoured her marine flavour.

He hooked fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down over her hips. Tugging them lower, he flexed her left leg until he could get the leghole off her, but he left the briefs hanging to her right thigh. It was a minor fetish he particularly enjoyed, to have sex with a girl who was still partly clothed.

“You naughty boy!” Olympe said, and giggled. She was happy to go along with that kind of harmless kink. She put her hands on her lower abdomen and upper thighs, using her thumbs and fingers to frame her bush and vulva for him. He looked at leisure, to see all her secret places. Her dark blonde bush was neatly trimmed to leave a wide, short landing strip. She had quite dark labia, heated with blood and her inner lips were a bit longer than average. It was her clitoris that surprised him. It was a deep coral pink and the pea-size glans protruded a centimetre from the hood. It looked delightful.

Roger lay close to her and got his hands under her butt. He lifted her towards his mouth, ready to plunge his tongue into her depths.

“Wait, wait, it’s easier like this,” she said, scrabbling for a pillow, which she pushed at him. They got it wedged comfortably below her hips, giving him a better angle of attack on her vulva.

Roger lent in and she put her thighs over his shoulders. She lay fully exposed to him and he decided to attack without mercy.


	4. Half a Dozen Oysters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger entertains Olympe with his mouth, fingers, and half a dozen oysters.
> 
> She has a massive orgasm. After recovering, she sucks him to completion.
> 
> They relax a bit and tidy up, then go to the jacuzzi together.

He kissed her inner thighs gently for a while, which was almost romantic, then moved his attention to her outer lips, pecking them with little sucks and nibbles. He teased her bush with his fingers, still avoiding her inner lips and her liquid core. She put her right hand on his head, trying to get him to pay proper attention to her pussy. He glanced up at Olympe’s face; her eyes were closed, her mouth open, panting, and her left hand was pinching at her nipples, alternating between the two of them.

“Get On... With It!” she nearly shouted, and pulled his head into her groin while humping her hips and clamping her thighs on his ears.

Roger obliged. He had no choice, she was too strong in her excess of desire. But anyway he wanted to pleasure her. He put out his tongue and ran it up her right lip from the bottom, around the top, then down her left, circling her pussy clockwise several times before changing and going back the other way. 

“Yes! Good boy!” she groaned. 

He went to attack her core, plunging his pointed tongue like a tiny cock again and again into her vagina, while mashing his lips against her labia. Her juices began to flow, and he lapped them up, but he knew from experience this kind of thrusting was not his best move. He had strained his tongue on one occasion, by too long an effort. Besides, the clitoris was the key target. 

He placed his open mouth over her clit, sealed his lips on her and flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly at the head, his saliva making the friction light and swift. He kept this up for 15 seconds then went to some strong suction, then back to his tongue flicking, alternating like this for several minutes while Olympe’s breathing got more strained and her hips moved more strongly. The thought of the pleasure he was giving her was so exciting, his cock strained and leaked pre-cum even though it wasn’t being directly stimulated. 

“Yes! Like that,” she cried in satisfaction. “Keep going, keep going, keep going, Oh Goddess!”

He hoped she was getting close to her orgasm, and thought it would be awesome to finish her off with the oysters. He pulled her thighs off his head and took his mouth away from her.

Olympe groaned in frustration and said angrily, “Where are you going? I’m almost there. Don’t stop now!”

“I’m getting the oysters,” he replied.

“Oooh! The oysters… Oh yesss!” She hissed her desire, and giggled at the thought of what they would be used for.

Roger jumped off the bed and got a fresh dish of six, lying chilly in their bed of ice. He put it in easy reach and took the first shell. Getting back into position, he carefully placed the briney morsel into the vestibule of Olympe’s vagina, pushed it home with two fingers and threw the shell somewhere he didn’t see. 

She jumped and moaned at the cold contact. Roger put his mouth to her and sucked the tidbit out with a good hard suction. He quickly munched and swallowed it, then licked her pussy up and down for all the salty juices. Five more oysters were used up in this way, he and Olympe both getting more excited at the kinky and delicious play. With the last one consumed, Roger latched his mouth onto the glans of her clit, and inserted two fingers into her cunt, feeling for the vestibular bulbs. He made a beckoning motion in time with the action of his tongue on her most sensitive parts, sucking hard.

Olympe groaned deeply, and came with a gush of white ejaculate, the waves of her orgasm going on and on as he continued to stimulate her with his fingers. It must have lasted a good half minute. Finally she lay still. She sighed, and said in a quiet voice, “Wow! That was great. Do you want to come now, Roger?”

“Yes, or I’m going to die.”

“How do you want to come?”

“Suck me and let me give you a facial.”

“Yes! Like a porno. Such fun!” She pushed him into a standing position at the end of the bed, so she could approach him on her hands and knees. He slipped the head into her willing mouth, and she rocked back and forth, fucking him with her lips and tongue. 

Olympe was so worked up, she found she could suppress her gag reflex, or maybe it was the position she was in. She bobbed her head down further and further, until his whole six inches were buried to the hilt in her mouth. 

He looked at the scene, her mouth sealed to his base, her nose jammed into his lower belly, her eyes rolled up to try and meet his gaze, her earrings swinging, and he could not wait any longer. He quickly pulled out to jerk off onto her face, but she slapped his hand away, grabbed his prick, smiled up at him, sealed her lips around the glans, sucking hard, and stroked him to a fast, gasping climax. 

He spurted into her mouth, one, two, three, four times, then she pulled him out, continuing to stroke rapidly, and let the rest of his spasm coat her face. Four more times he jetted his hot spunk, groaning with the sensation. It was one of the best orgasms he had ever experienced. 

Olympe grinned a jizz glazed smile, opened her mouth to show him the semen she had accepted, rolled it around her tongue, swallowed with an animal gulp, and smiled again to show it was all gone. She slumped back on the counterpane, which by now was spotted damp with a variety of fluids. Roger fell next to her, completely spent.

“That was fucking awesome!” she exclaimed with immense satisfaction. “Plenty of special sauce.” She sighed a deep sigh of satiation. “I’m just a hot, sticky mess. Let’s wait a few minutes, then go for a bath.” 

Roger silently agreed. His erection was subsiding. He reckoned after an orgasm like that he would need a good half hour before he could get much of a stiffy again. Though perhaps Olympe’s earthy enthusiasm and sexual skills might do the trick sooner. Also there were a few oysters left. They should be good for something. 

He washed his hands and face quickly, then poured two glasses of champagne. Olympe was still lying on the counterpane but she had kicked the pillow to the floor and thrown her panties across the room. She was idly playing with the blobs of semen on her face, dabbing her fingers at it, looking at them closely, then touching her tongue. He handed her a damp face cloth, so she could wipe herself, and she sat up.

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful.” She wiped her face, accepted a glass from him and drank half of it in one go. “So refreshing! Have you ever tasted semen, Roger?”

He sat down next to her. “Yes.”

“How did that come about? Are you bi?”

“No. I once tasted my own cum after masturbating, to see what it was like. I thought if I want girls to taste mine, I had better at least once find out what it’s like.”

“What did you think of it?”

“It had a musky warmth, like a kind of spice. I did not swallow it. But I found I was not afraid of it, and since then, when I come on a girl, I’m not worried to kiss her and get some of the cum in my mouth.”

“That’s sweet of you. I’ve tasted my own spendings often. It’s easy to as a girl. You come all over your hands when you play with yourself.” She smiled at him. “Sex is kind of messy, isn’t it?” She gestured around the room. Clothes and shoes were lying everywhere. Half a dozen oyster shells had been thrown all over. The bed was spattered with fluids, luckily the bedspread had absorbed the damage.

“The best sex is very messy, that’s half the fun,” he replied. “Come on, let’s get you into the bath.” He went to check the water. It had cooled down rather, so he drained some and refilled it with hot, putting in more bubble bath to get a good cloud of foam going. 

Meanwhile Olympe began to tidy up a bit. She neatly folded his clothes and put them on a chair. She hung up her trousers and shirt with her suit jacket. She took the counterpane off the bed, folding it wet side in, and put it on the other chair. The pillow she had had under her hips was damp too, and went with the counterpane. Finally she folded the duvet back and made the bed look like a nice place for them to get in together.

Roger was looking for the thrown away oyster shells. He found five and went to throw them in the rubbish bin but she stopped him. “Give me one for a souvenir.” She wrapped the rough shell in tissue and slipped it into her handbag.

Together they got into the huge tub, lying at opposite ends to face each other and talk. They relaxed in the hot water.


	5. Soft SM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olympe and Roger take a bath together and discuss her feminist ideas.
> 
> This puts her in a bad mood, but she recovers with a cocktail and dancing.
> 
> Roger wants to eat the remaining oysters from her navel, but she won't let him until he ties her up.

They lazily washed themselves of the sweat and fluids they had generated during their passion, then lay still and relaxed for a while. The foam began to dissipate, allowing them glimpses of each other’s bodies in the water.

As suspected, Roger had a bit of chub at his waist. You could call it small love handles. Olympe didn’t care, though. He had proved himself very good with his mouth and his hands, and open to new sexual experiences. These were more valuable qualities in a new lover than a washboard stomach.

Roger had questions. “May I ask you something personal, Olympe?”

“After the fun you gave me you can ask for anything. I don’t promise to answer, though.” She grinned, to take any sting out of it.

“Why don’t you shave your armpits and legs? Most women do.”

“Oh, that. It is my small rebellion against the Patriarchy.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, in some way women’s bodies are treated as the collective property of societies largely ruled by men. We are taught to be ashamed of our natural selves. It runs from leg shaving, through attitudes around menstruation, and the importance of virginity in girls but not boys. In the end there is female genital mutilation. The clitoris is the main way girls get off during sex, so let’s chop it off and make them into passive baby farms. Disgusting!”

He stared at her, surprised at this sudden display of feminism.

“Don’t get me wrong, Roger. I know I’m a hugely privileged woman in many ways. I’m white, well-educated, I’ve got money, all that good stuff. I’m not trying to be some kind of crusader. I don’t do half as much as I should. All I’ve done is not shave where I’m supposed to. I wear make-up and jewellery and miniskirts so I can play at being a girly-girl. Maybe I’m just a hypocrite.” She looked sour.

“Olympe, I’ve grown up a white man. I don’t have the life experience you do, so it’s hard for me to understand in my gut. But I know intellectually what you mean. At least, I am trying to.” He hoped he had not spoilt the mood of the evening by his question.

She moved her legs restlessly in the water, churning up bubbles. “It’s okay. I’m sorry to lay my hang-ups on you, Roger. I don’t blame you personally.” She began to get out of the tub. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” 

They got out of the bath and helped towel each other dry. Olympe’s nipples perked up from the rough terry cloth. She gave Roger’s penis an experimental stroke and there was a bit of response. 

“You’re beginning to recover, Roger. How about I let you eat the rest of the oysters out of my navel? You can use vinegar or Tabasco if you like.”

They put on bathrobes. She took off her long earrings, replaced them with short gold studs, and removed what remained of her make-up. She intended to do her full nightly regimen after having more sex.

In the bedroom the jazz standards played on quietly in the background. There were three oysters left. They needed to be eaten before all the ice melted and they got warm. Olympe pulled the big duvet down to the foot of the bed and threw herself onto the white sheet. She rolled over onto her front, kicking her legs slowly. Roger thought she seemed melancholy and pensive.

“Would you like more champagne, Olympe? There’s a small glass left.”

“No, thank you, you should have that with the oysters. I will drink my Stinger. Please would you bring it to me?”

He got the cocktail from the mini-bar. It was still well chilled. He turned to give it to her. She had sat up cross legged on the bed, the front of her robe falling open as the sash came undone. The pose exposed her body to his gaze. He could see her small breasts, their dark nipples, and the shadow of the hair in her groin. She took the glass and drank a large sip.

“Aaaah! It’s so refreshing.” She jumped off the bed, nearly spilling her drink, and went to the music system. “I want to dance!” She changed the playlist to electronic dance music with heavy beats. Some old classic by the Chemical Brothers came on. She turned up the volume, not to club levels of course, the hotel sound system’s power was limited, to avoid nuisance to other guests. 

She took another sip of her cocktail, put the glass down and began to wave her hands in the air and shake her hips to the rhythm. The open bathrobe swung heavily. Roger thought a minidress would have suited much better. He was amazed at the way her mood had flipped, but he accepted the change and went along with it, getting up to join her in the dance.

They danced three songs and were feeling sweaty again, in a good way. She was an excellent dancer, upright, flowing, rhythmic. He responded to her moves, and began to feel more confident of his normally mediocre skills. She raised his level by dancing with him, as he could mirror her. Their body perfume mixed and excited them. 

Olympe grabbed Roger’s right hand with her left. Lifting her glass with her right, she touched it to his lips. He took just a tiny sip of the cold fluid. It was strongly alcoholic and minty fresh. He smiled and shook his head at her offer of more. He took the glass from her, put it down safely, and pulled her by the hand to the bed. His cock was beginning to rise again. He wanted to eat oysters.

Olympe shrugged off her robe and threw herself onto the bed. She rolled over to lie on her back, her legs together and straight, her arms by her sides. She smiled a bright smile at him and her eyes sparkled happily. Clearly her spirits were restored.

“Are you ready for some more fun, Roger?”

“First I want to eat more oysters. Lie still for me, so I can eat them from your navel.”

“You’ll have to make me!” She stuck her tongue out at him, then began to roll off the bed, to run to the bathroom and hide perhaps, but he caught her ankles and pulled her back into position. She kicked playfully at him, just enough for the illusion of resistance; she was big and strong enough to give him a real fight if she wanted to. He grabbed the sash of his robe and wound it around her ankles, quickly tying it tight enough to make her feel some restraint, without it being a real imprisonment.

“Oooh! Soft SM play, what a good idea. I wonder if you can get my arms done too.” She humped and scrabbled across the bed, playing at escape, until he got the other bathrobe sash, grabbed her arms and tied her wrists together, her fingers interlocked. Her range of movement was limited, so her upper arms were pressed against the sides of her breasts, creating a degree of cleavage. He wondered if he should put his cock between them and fuck her that way.

“Do we need a safe word, Olympe?” he asked her. He wasn’t experienced at bondage but he knew the sub needed a way to stop the scene if it got too much for them.

“It’s good practice, even if we’re only playing at it. My safe word shall be... Tokyo.” She repeated it several times, to make sure they both understood its sound. “So obviously, no gags, Roger, but you can do anything else you like until I say that word. Then you must stop.”

He nodded his understanding. His penis was semi-erect now, and some pre-cum had begun to ooze, just from the mental stimulation of this bondage scene. 

“Right!” he commanded her. “Lie still and put your hands down to your crotch. I like the way that squeezes your breasts together. I’m going to eat my oysters out of your cleavage.” 

She obeyed. He fetched the dish of oysters and the half glass of champagne, and sat to the right side of her pelvis, so he could watch her face as he got his snack ready. Her eyes were bright with anticipation, and she was shifting her hips and thighs slightly, to put subtle pressure on her vulva.


	6. Filled and Stretched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger eats oysters from Olympe's cleavage.
> 
> They play around a bit, then she wants to be seriously fucked. He takes her from behind, still tied up.
> 
> After his orgasm, he plays with Olympe and teases her, before he brings her off and unties her.

He prepared the first oyster with vinegar and some chopped spring onions, brought the shell, dripping, over her stomach, and slid the morsel of flesh between her breasts. She moaned lightly at the cold contact, and he swooped with open mouth, plunged into her cleavage, sucked up the cold mollusc and chewed it twice, to get the full flavour. He swallowed.

“Yum” he said, and licked the remaining brine, vinegar and shreds of onion from her breasts, giving some touches to her nipples, and then moved down her stomach towards her crotch, to get the last few drips.

“Lick me, Roger. I need your tongue again.” She humped her hips at him.

“Not until I’ve finished my oysters, so just lie still.” He pressed her legs flat, and prepared an oyster with Tabasco.

The performance was repeated with a spicy Tabasco oyster, then he took the final one and asked Olympe if she would like it.

“No, thank you, but please let me have my cocktail or it will get warm. I hate them warm.”

He brought the Stinger and helped her to drink. She drank the entire glass and gasped. Her breath was hot and minty from the mixture of brandy and creme de menthe. Suddenly he desired her enormously. A wave of lust washed over him. He put the glass down safely and pressed his mouth to hers for a kiss. Her lips were already half-open. They locked in an embrace, their tongues exploring each other for the various flavours of oyster and accompaniments, mint and alcohol. 

The kiss went on and on. She moaned, eager but unable to hold him in her arms. Her bound hands jerked against him. He held her softly like a child, and continued to ravage her mouth, until he felt her relax and slump back. He let her lie down again.

“Roger…” her eyes were full of tears. “I think I would like that oyster after all. Please may I have it with Tabasco?”

“Of course.” He brought it immediately, and she slurped it down with satisfaction.

“Imagine how your cock would feel in my mouth now,” she said.

“I don’t have to imagine.” He rolled her onto her right side, so they could achieve a comfortable position while her limbs were bound. She opened her mouth like a baby bird, and he slowly inserted his raging penis. Her lips clamped on him. She began to bob her head slowly, writhing her tongue around his glans, to spread her saliva and traces of Tabasco and mint onto his most sensitive nerves. 

Roger reached down with his hand, to access her vulva and give her clitoris some loving caresses. He moved his fingers as slowly as she was sucking him. They got into a rhythm. Her juices began to ooze and coat his fingers. He stroked her inner lips before zeroing in on her clit. She moaned. He stroked faster, and gently pinched the glans of her clitoris.

Olympe popped him out of her mouth. “Roger, I want to be fucked. Fuck me now.”

“I’ll fuck you when I want to, not before, so keep quiet and do what I tell you.”

She closed her mouth and her eyes. She gave herself over to the movements of his fingers. He knelt up, freeing her to move. She rolled onto her back. Her arms were still tied together and she raised them up, stretched them over her head so her torso was arched, her small breasts flattened but the nipples were so hard. Her hips rolled in time with his caresses of her vulva. He leant back to lap at her breasts, he mouthed at her left breast while fondling the right with his free hand. He pinched the nipple hard, and she gasped.

“Please, please fuck me! I’m so ready. I want to be filled.”

He relented. He quickly rolled a condom onto his erection and moved her helpless body into position. He got her onto her elbows and knees, a kind of doggy position but because of the restraints to her limbs she could not spread them wide and this made her unstable. He positioned himself behind her, grasped her hips firmly and tried to feed his cock into her without using his hands. It was too difficult and she had to reach down between her thighs to help him. She was now supported on her head and right shoulder. He entered her easily, as she was very wet. He began to move slowly, and she groaned to feel his girth stretching her. She was tight.

“Don’t go too hard. Don’t go too deep,” she moaned, “I’m not ready yet.”

He rocked his hips slowly, pulling hers back to meet him. She panted and fumbled with her tied hands at the entrance to her vagina, trying to stimulate her clitoris and finger his moving cock at the same time. She clenched her knees close together, making her balance even more difficult and he had to grip her hips firmly, not to lose control or they would uncouple. Her nipples were scraping the bedsheet as her body moved.

“So good, Roger, sooo goood!” she moaned, “Go deeper now. I want to feel you in my depths.” She was loosening up and he found he could move more easily. He began to pick up speed. “Don’t go so fast!” she cried. He slowed down until her panting moans were pleasure again, and he bore down on her hard, jamming her pelvis into the bed, pushing her vulva against her hands.

The sight of her body, restrained by her bonds, flexing in response to his sexual thrusts, made his prick utterly rigid. The muscles in her shoulders and back moving in time, the shape of her hips in his firm grasp, the wobble of her buttocks as he powered into her.

Roger began to approach his orgasm and wanted to take it.

“I’m going to come.”

“Come on me! I want to feel your cum on my skin.”

He pulled out of her and she sighed and slumped onto her side, then her back. She watched him remove the condom from his cock, and reached out to him with her bound hands. He moved closer so that she could take his prick into her slick fingers and jerk him. It took only a few strokes and he burst, four or five jets of spunk flying out and dropping onto her stomach and breasts.

“Not quite a pearl necklace but a damn good effort,” she said, squeezing a few last drops of cum from his penis. She brought her hands to her mouth and lapped at them. “Finish me off with your hands, Roger. You’re good with your hands.”

“Do you want me to untie you?”

“I haven’t said the word, have I?”

She hadn’t, so Roger nodded, knelt in a position that gave him good access to her vulva, and moistened his fingers in her lush fluids. He used his left thumb and forefinger to lightly pinch and stroke her clitoris, and slid the thumb and first two fingers of his right hand into her cunt, fucking her thoroughly and fast. After a couple of minutes she began to cry out, “Yes, yes, yes, keep going, keep going!” and he pulled his fingers out of her.

“You bastard! I’m so close.”

Roger pinched her nipples a few times, then he replaced his fingers in her and continued his thorough masturbation. Once again he pulled out as she got close to her orgasm. She tried to grab at his wrists, but it was too difficult with her hands tied.

“Uuurgh! If you do that again I’m going to kick your balls when I get out of these ties. Just finish me off!”

For the third time, he applied his fingers to her pleasure spots, and this time when her orgasm was building he did not stop, he simply pushed her over the brink. She began to sob as her climax rolled through her pelvis, shaking her hips in a jerky rhythm. He continued to fuck her as creamy white fluid poured from her. He tried to push her to a second orgasm, but she was spent, breathing heavily and slumped in exhaustion.

“Tokyo.”

He took mercy immediately, untying her hands, then her legs, and gathered her into his arms, gentling her and kissing her softly, smearing his sperm from earlier across both their bodies as they pressed together.

“Roger,” she whispered, “Everything didn’t go as I planned it. I wanted to ride you, but it doesn’t matter. You were great. Thank you.”

He kissed her softly, with closed mouth, and she moved her lips under his, but didn’t try to use her tongue.

They lay together for a few minutes, until Olympe stirred and said, “We had better get ready for sleep now. May I shower first?”

“Of course. I’ll tidy up in here.


	7. Bedtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexually satisfied, the couple prepare for bed. 
> 
> Olympe gives Roger a kiss mark, and they sleep.
> 
> The next morning she is gone, just as she promised him.

Olympe took some time to shower, then did her nightly regimen of skin care. Meanwhile Roger put his bathrobe back on and tidied up a bit, rearranged the pillows, and got himself a whisky from the mini-bar. He sat, sipping the whisky with some of the rather wet ice from the oysters, until she came out of the bathroom, nude except for a waft of Chanel no.5. She unwrapped her new tee-shirt and panties and put them on as pyjamas. 

Roger got up to go and wash. As he passed Olympe, she took his hand and said, “There’s something I forgot to do earlier.” She undid his bathrobe, put her left hand behind his head and pulled it down towards her. She nuzzled her mouth to the left side of his neck, and gave him a long, powerful, sucking, kiss. Soon he would display a spectacular love bite.

“I’m not a vampire. I just wanted to put my kiss mark on you. That’s what it’s called in Japan.” She let him go. 

When Roger came back from his shower, she was sitting up in bed, watching TV and drinking a bottle of sparkling mineral water. He got into bed naked, as he hadn’t brought any pyjamas. The wet patch was in the middle, so they had to kind of share it, which seemed an equitable arrangement. They watched the late news, then switched off the lights and went to sleep quickly.

Roger woke in the early morning to find Olympe gone from beside him, as she had promised him in the Nanashi the night before. She was moving quietly around the suite, already made up and dressed. She noticed he was awake, and whispered, “Ssssh. Go back to sleep,” as if he were a little child. When he woke again she was gone. 

He got up and surveyed the scene. The room service trolley was in a corner, all tidied up, the oyster dishes emptied of meltwater and stacked with the empty half shells, The used glasses and bottles were lined up neatly. There was a woman’s tee-shirt in the trash can. He pulled it out and could smell her on it, a mixture of female sweat and her perfume. The bathroom was similarly neatened, and a breath of Chanel lingered in the air. There was a pink lipstick kiss on the mirror. Olympe's 'kiss mark' stood out dark and hard on his neck's pale skin.

He checked the coffee table and found the following items: an oyster shell, a single heavy, dangly gold earring, and a calling card. Expensively printed on cream colour board, it was blank apart from the letters PIA, and a QR code.

The End

© 2020 Starship Captain 88


End file.
